


Everyday is Arm Day

by droideka



Series: Big Buff Butch Shepard [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/F, Humor, Oral Sex, Renegade Shepard (Mass Effect), Shower Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut, improper lifting technique
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 04:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19041331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/droideka/pseuds/droideka
Summary: Traynor hasn't been to the rec in three weeks. Every time she tries to go, Shepard is there – flushed, sweating, flexing. It's incredibly distracting. She's managed to avoid making a fool of herself until now, but this time she's run out of excuses. When Shepard offers her assistance as a personal trainer, Traynor can't reasonably refuse.Then the training gets a lot more personal.





	Everyday is Arm Day

The gentle chime of Traynor’s omnitool woke her from her sleep. She slapped it with the flat of her palm much less gently, abruptly halting its chiming. She flipped through the interface to check the time and saw it was 0430.

Traynor groaned and turned over in her bunk, facing the bulkhead. There would have been a window there, looking out over Vancouver harbor, if she were back on Earth. Here there was only the metal bulkhead separating her from the cold darkness of space.

Samantha Traynor didn’t like space.

She was a colony girl first and an Earth girl second, born and raised with her feet planted firmly to the ground. The _Normandy_ , by contrast, maintained a modest .5g to avoid depleting its eezo reserves in the event of an emergency. Enough to keep you on the floor, but not enough to feel grounded.

The _Normandy’s_ escape from Vancouver was disorienting, to say the least. It took days for her to be able to reliably walk to her duty station, and weeks before she could get there with ease.

The drills were the worst, though. Given the high number of groundside servicemen that the _Normandy_ had “adopted” – as the Commander would say – Commander Shepard ordered half a dozen emergency drills in zero g. In the first, Traynor floated helplessly at her station, flailing for the controls as she spun in lazy circles toward the galaxy map. It was the Commander’s strong grip on her arm that righted her, and then gave her a reassuring pat on the arm.

“Inertia’s a bitch,” Shepard had said with a grin.

Traynor was mortified. Not only did she make an arse of herself in front of the entire bridge crew, she made an arse of herself in front of Commander Shepard. She stood 6’5” in full armor and was made of 175 lbs of solid muscle. Living, breathing, and back from the dead. Commander Shepard. The legend.

And – _God help her_ – Shepard was handsome, too. Her eyes were dark and angular. Her hair was black, shaved at the sides and short at the crown. Her skin was light brown, and her features were all hard lines and sharp edges. She made an intimidating figure, but she had a disarming smile and an easy grin.

Traynor was absolutely smitten.

So, Traynor did what any responsible and capable marine would do: enact a campaign of total nonengagement. She would acknowledge the Commander’s greeting with a crisp salute, not trusting herself beyond monosyllabic answers. She worked diligently at her station, focusing all her attention on the stream of incoming information and trying to avoid the Commander’s watchful gaze. She ducked out of meetings before the Commander could say hello. She excused herself from meals before the Commander could join her.

And her plan was working! Partially.

Two weeks ago, during her routine biweekly physical (Chakwas would argue that biweekly physicals were considered “routine” by no one, but that wasn’t the point) Dr. Chakwas noted her weight loss. She attributed it to a loss of muscle mass common in low gravity, and ordered her to engage in moderate physical activity at least twice per week. Traynor protested but… doctor’s orders.

Twice weekly exercise turned out to be more than she could handle.

Every time that Traynor attempted to go to the small rec facility in the lower decks, Commander Shepard was there running, lifting weights, or sparring. Traynor supposed that it must be necessary, given her impressive physique. But it felt like Shepard was inescapable.

Traynor tried, in the beginning, to simply ignore Shepard and focus on controlling her heart rate and breathing. But she couldn’t help the way her breath would catch and her heart pound at the sight of Shepard pushing her body to its limits. Breathing hard, her skin flushed, sweat dripping from her brow…

Hence why Traynor was awake at this ungodly hour: all in hopes of avoiding the Commander at the rec.

The chiming of her omnitool took on a more urgent tone as the alarm resumed. It roused Traynor from her thoughts, and with one last groan she sat up in bed and silenced the alarm.

Traynor dressed quickly in the dark, pulling on her PT uniform and slipping her feet into her shoes as she stepped through the door. She shifted impatiently from foot to foot in the elevator as it made its slow descent into the lower decks and slid through the doors before they fully opened. Traynor walked purposefully through the halls and opened the door to the rec.

Traynor swept her gaze across the empty room, over the treadmills and bicycles toward the free weights and kettle bells. The relief she felt was short lived, until she caught sight of the Commander doing pull ups near the weights.

Traynor spun on her heel to go back through the door.

“Need something, Specialist?”

Traynor felt the hair on the back of her neck rise at the sound. Traynor turned, slowly, to face the Commander. Shepard was hanging from the pull up bar, watching Traynor over her shoulder. She smiled when their eyes met.

“Didn’t think anyone else would be up at this hour,” she said.

“Neither did I,” Traynor admitted. “Why are you up so early?”

“Today is arm day,” Shepard said, by way of explanation.

“Why is it always arm day?” Traynor grumbled beneath her breath. Shepard looked at her inquisitively. Traynor made a dismissive gesture. “It’s not important.”

“Well,” Shepard turned away from her to resume her pull ups. “It’s nice to have company,” she grunted.

“Oh. Then I’m sorry to disappoint you.” Traynor said. Shepard turned her head to watch her again, mid pull up.

 _How did she_ do _that?_

Traynor fidgeted beneath her questioning gaze. “Because. Um. It’s arm day for me too. And I don’t want to get in your way. So I’ll just come back later. Cheers!”

Traynor had already turned and put her hand on the door’s keypad when she heard the dull _thud_ of Shepard’s feet hitting the floor. “Wait,” she called.

Fighting the crazy urge to bolt down the hallway and barricade herself in her bunk, Traynor turned back toward the Commander. She tried sounding as nonchalant as possible. “Yes?” she purred. _Too much. Way too much._ Klaxons were wailing in her head _. Scuttle the ship. To the escape pods. Abort. Abort!_

To her credit, Shepard seemed unfazed. “I like having a partner.” She started walking toward the door, toward Traynor. She was smiling. “Helps keep me accountable.”

There was that smile again, the one that made her weak in the knees. She was searching for an excuse – any excuse. Anything to keep her from drowning in her embarrassment. _Workout. Exercise. Muscles. Vega?_ “What about Vega?” she managed to get out.

“This room can only accommodate so much ego,” Shepard replied.

“Oh. I suppose that’s a consideration.”

“You’re not secretly a muscle bound jarhead with something to prove, are you?”

“N-no. Quite the opposite, actually.” Another excuse came to her. “I don’t think I could keep up with you, I would just slow you down.” She clung to the excuse like a life raft. “I think you’d be better off without me. So I’ll just see myself out –”

“Even better.” Shepard’s smile grew wider. “Chakwas keeps telling me I need a hobby. Personal training counts as a hobby, right?”

“Well, I don’t know how much you could teach me.” Shepard came to a stop in front of her, and Traynor was suddenly very aware of their height and size difference. “I-I –” Traynor stood up to her full height and tried to look impressive. “—I’m very well informed.”

Shepard’s smile took on a roguish quality. “I bet I could teach you something,” she said.

“Wh-”

Shepard didn’t answer her, just reached behind her to touch the keypad and close the open door. She put a hand on her shoulder, gently leading her back into the rec room.

“C’mon,” Shepard said. “I’ll spot you.”

Shepard led Traynor toward the weights lined up along the bulkhead at the back of the rec and Traynor looked at them with dread. She managed to get through the physical rigor of basic training, but right now that felt like hundreds of years ago. At the time, the physical activity seemed useless to her. She was just a specialist. She was no warrior, and had no intention of becoming one. The closest thing she ever came to war was the battle sims she liked to play in her spare time. Sure, she was good at them, and her competitive nature lent itself to war games – but did skill in war games translate to being a competent warrior?

As she stared down at the weights on the rack she could only hope that it did.

“Alright Specialist,” Shepard grinned. “Show me what you got.”

Traynor started to reach for the smallest weight but stopped herself. The problem, she realized, was how she was going to maintain her “well informed” façade without betraying her own physical deficiencies. But this was a strategy problem, and she was good at strategy.

Traynor knew that weight is a function of mass and gravity, meaning that the lowered gravity aboard the _Normandy_ would enable her to lift more than she would ordinarily expect. So the dilemma was picking a weight that was light enough that she could lift it but heavy enough to not arouse suspicion. She selected a weight near the middle. When she looked at Shepard, she seemed satisfied.

The next problem arose when Shepard asked her, “Where do you want to start?”

Traynor racked her brain for any memory of her time in PT. _What was the name of that one where you lift the weight?_ She internally shook her head. _They’re all about lifting weights, Sam_.

“Bicep curl?” she said, her tone rising in a question.

“Sure. Start with something simple.”

Shepard reached past her to select a weight – considerably larger than hers, she noted – and then walked back to a bench. Traynor followed and sat across from her on another bench. Thankfully Shepard didn’t wait for her to start, and Traynor did her best to copy what she was doing.

Between stolen glances at the Commander, Traynor was struck at how odd it was to see her off duty and out of uniform. It was like Traynor was witnessing an unseen side of the Commander, one that felt strangely exposed. Maybe it was part of the mythos of the Commander: forever a warrior and never a human being just like the rest of them. The internal image she, and no doubt the rest of the crew, had of the Commander was of her standing at attention in Alliance blues, or walking with purpose in full armor. Obviously she must change her clothes at some point, whether into pajamas for bed or naked in the shower –

Traynor stopped that thought and shoved it very far out of her consciousness. _Don’t think about the Commander naked. Don’t think about stripping off all her clothes. Just don’t think about the Commander in the shower. Don’t think about the way the water would trail down every muscle. Don’t think about –_

“Your form is wrong,” Shepard observed, snapping Traynor back into the present.

“Is it?” Traynor looked down at the weight in her hand.

“Here.”

Traynor felt the press of Shepard’s hand between her shoulders. “Don’t use your back.” Traynor stiffened reflexively under her touch, her back straight as a board. Shepard laughed.

“Lemme show you,” she said.

Traynor swallowed. “Of course.”

The bench shifted as Shepard sat down behind her, with Traynor between her legs. She pressed her palm into her back, guiding it into a gentle curve. Traynor could feel the heat radiating off of Shepard’s sweat-slicked skin as she leaned in close, her chest brushing against her back. Shepard smoothed her hands down Traynor’s arms, one settling on the hand planted on Traynor’s knee, the other lightly grasping Traynor’s bicep.

“Always maintain tension. Don’t lock your elbow.” Shepard was speaking close to Traynor’s ear, her chin almost resting on her shoulder.

It took Traynor all of about two seconds to realize she was supposed to be doing something with her instruction. Just long enough for it to be awkward. Her arm flexed beneath Shepard’s hand as she lifted the weight, Shepard’s fingers just barely pressing against her muscle. Shepard’s other hand was still on hers, anchoring it firmly to her knee.

“Good. Five more.”

Traynor suppressed a groan. But the reluctance she felt must have shown on her face, because Shepard laughed softly. “C’mon, Specialist. It’s not hard. Just a few reps, to start.”

Unsure of how to escape, Traynor lifted the weight. One. Traynor could feel her ears burning, and Shepard’s warm breath on her neck did nothing to cool them. Two. Shepard’s front was pressed against Traynor’s back, and she could feel the even rise and fall of her chest and the steady beating of her heart. Three. Shepard shifted behind her, and out of the corner of her eye Traynor could see her dark eyes fixed on her face. Four. Traynor found her eyes drifting from the weight in her hand, turning to meet Shepard’s. Four and a half. Shepard’s eyes were searching hers, seeking an answer to her questioning gaze.

 _Sod it._ Traynor closed the distance and pressed a kiss to Shepard’s lips.

Shepard didn’t pull away. She didn’t move at all, really. Traynor worried that she made a mistake, misread a cue. She pulled out of the kiss then cast her gaze down toward the floor, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I just thought –”

Shepard cut her off with another kiss, and Traynor could feel the smile on her lips.

The weight rolled out of Traynor’s hand as the kiss deepened, her hand coming up to touch Shepard’s face. 

Traynor felt light headed as they kissed, dizzy with the euphoria of her feelings being reciprocated. Reciprocated by Commander Shepard. The very same Commander Shepard whose stoic figure had become a symbol of Alliance resilience. The very same Commander Shepard whose intimidating presence was disarmed by her careless grin. The very same Commander Shepard that charmed her from the first time they met in her cabin.

After a long moment they slid out of the kiss, and when Traynor opened her eyes she saw that Shepard’s intense gaze was fixed on her face. Shepard was still smiling, but Traynor could see that roguish quality return to her expression.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” Shepard asked.

“Too long,” Traynor admitted.

“I was starting to think you didn’t like me.”

“No! Very, very much the opposite.”

“Then why the run around?”

Traynor gave Shepard a sheepish smile. “It was hard to believe that _the_ Commander Shepard would be interested in a humble specialist like me.”

“Sam.” It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end when Shepard said her name. Shepard drew away from her and Traynor was surprised at the way she longed for her touch. “Look at me,” Shepard said.

Traynor turned around on the bench to face Shepard. Shepard had a serious look on her face. “Do I look like someone who knows anything about quantum entanglement?”

Traynor wasn’t sure how to answer.

Shepard answered her own question. “I don’t know jack shit about quantum entanglement. The only reason I showed at those comm briefings was to see you.”

The admission made Traynor’s heart flutter. “Oh,” she managed to say.

“I thought you were just playing games with me.” There was trouble in Shepard’s eyes. “You like playing games, Specialist?”

Traynor felt giddy, so much that she put on a coy smile. “You could say that.”

“Then you should know –” Shepard said, as she leaned forward for a kiss, “—that I play to win.”

As they kissed, Traynor wondered if Shepard wanted her the same way that she wanted Shepard. She wondered if Shepard wanted her enough that her heart skipped a beat in her chest, her breath caught in her throat. She wondered if Shepard lost sleep at night over her, lost in the fantasy of her arms lifting her onto the galaxy map and her hands slipping between Traynor’s thighs. _Okay, maybe that one is a little Sam specific,_ she thought _._

Regardless, Traynor found her answer in the way Shepard combed her hand through Traynor’s hair to the back of her head, pulling her into the kiss. She felt it in the way Shepard smoothed her hand up her thigh. She could hear it in the way Shepard’s breathing deepened as she kissed her.

Emboldened, Traynor slipped out of the kiss to stand. She resettled herself in Shepard’s lap, winding her arms across Shepard’s broad shoulders. Shepard looked surprised, but pleasantly so.

“One thing you should know about me, Commander –” Traynor said, as she pulled Shepard close for another kiss, “—is that I play for keeps.”

All that want came out in this kiss as Shepard put her hands on Traynor’s waist, trying to bring their bodies closer, closer. Traynor could feel that want building in her core, spreading downward between her legs. Shepard broke the kiss to press her lips to Traynor’s throat, kissing and teasing the tender skin. Traynor couldn’t help the breathy moan that escaped her, or the way that her hips rolled against Shepard’s.

Shepard kissed her lips again, passionately. Traynor could feel her heart pounding, her breath hitching, her skin sweating in the throes of that kiss. When they separated, finally, they were both breathing hard.

“Well. I would call that a successful workout,” Traynor said and Shepard laughed. Still feeling cheeky, Traynor traced her finger along the muscles of Shepard’s shoulder. “I could use a shower,” she said. “If you’re interested.”

Shepard grinned. “Oh, I’m interested.” Shepard kissed her again, this one surprisingly tender.

“Y’know,” Shepard said as they separated, “I have a very spacious shower in my cabin.”

Traynor didn’t need much convincing. They set a breathless pace to Shepard’s cabin, stumbling out of the elevator together locked in a kiss. Shepard led her into the bathroom, stripping off their clothes as they went. First Shepard’s shirt, then Traynor’s shorts, then they both paused to struggle out of their shoes and socks. Shepard kissed down Traynor’s front after removing her shirt and bra, closing her mouth around a brown nipple as her hand kneaded the other, making Traynor moan softly. As she swapped from nipple to the other, Shepard’s hands slid down Traynor’s stomach. Her fingers found the waistband of her panties and then pulled them down in one swift motion. Traynor’s hands fumbled at Shepard’s clothes when she stood to kiss her again. Shepard assisted her, raising her arms above her head to remove her sports bra and pulling her shorts and briefs down her legs.

Shepard took a hold of Traynor’s waist and backed her into the shower, her dark eyes never leaving her face. Shepard reached behind her to turn the faucet, soaking them both in warm water.

Traynor’s hands roamed over Shepard’s body, following the droplets of water that traveled down the hard lines of her muscles. Shepard kissed Traynor deeply, combing one hand through Traynor’s slick hair and the other smoothing down her front. Shepard’s hand slid between her legs and then between her folds. Traynor moaned into Shepard’s mouth as her fingers found her clit, rolling and stroking it through her wetness.

Shepard crowded Traynor back into the shower wall, her back pressed against the cool metal as her front was soaked by the warm water. Shepard broke the kiss to trace a water droplet down Traynor’s front with her tongue. Down along the cords of her neck, between her breasts, around her belly button, and between her legs. Shepard paused to push Traynor’s legs further apart before looking up at her from the shower floor. Their dark eyes met, and the intensity of Shepard’s gaze only stoked her want.

Traynor inhaled sharply as Shepard pressed her mouth between her legs, tracing her folds and rolling her clit with her tongue. She varied her licking with gentle sucking, exploring Traynor with her mouth and making her sigh with pleasure and moan in desire.

Shepard’s fingers pressed into the back of Traynor’s thigh, lifting her leg to hook her knee over her right shoulder. The change in angle made Traynor’s head fall back on her shoulders to rest against the shower wall. Shepard smoothed her hand up the inside of Traynor’s thigh. Traynor gasped as Shepard’s fingers slid between her parted folds, her forefinger pressed against her entrance. She gasped again as the finger slipped inside her, then moaned as it began to rub up and down the inside of her walls.

Shepard worked her with her mouth for some time before her free hand slipped between her legs to grasp the back of her thigh, and before Traynor was fully aware of what was happening Shepard had lifted her other leg over her left shoulder and Traynor was off the ground entirely. Shepard removed both of her hands to wrap her arms around Traynor’s thighs, steadying her on her shoulders.

“What are you do- _oooing?!_ ” Midway through her sentence, Shepard shifted onto her feet and stood.

Now Traynor was six feet off the ground, her back pressed against the shower wall and her legs spread across Shepard’s shoulders. And Shepard – _God bless her_ – was still totally engrossed in what she was doing.

Traynor pushed one of her hands through Shepard’s wet hair, her fingers curling against her scalp. The other hand found the showerhead, gripping it tightly in her palm. She was breathing hard, sucking in heaving breaths in between moans and sighs. Her heart pounded in her chest, and even soaked in the shower she could tell she was drenched in sweat.

Traynor hazily wondered if this counted as “moderate physical activity.”

Shepard took Traynor’s clit between her lips, and Traynor’s breath hitched. She let it out in a shameless moan as Shepard began to suck.

Traynor could feel her orgasm building, a growing heat that spread from her core down between her legs. She felt her whole body tense, and with a cry she felt it all come undone.

She heard Shepard grunt in pain as Traynor’s grip in her hair tightened, but she didn’t stop. Traynor couldn’t quiet her high cries as she came, pulling at Shepard’s hair and clutching the showerhead with white knuckles. Shepard’s hold on her legs tightened as she rolled her hips against Shepard’s mouth, riding every wave of her orgasm to its peak.

Her grip on Shepard’s hair loosened as she came down, and for a moment all Traynor could do was slump heavily against the shower wall. Carefully, Shepard lowered them both down to the ground, kneeling on the floor and helping Traynor slide her legs off her shoulders. Traynor stood on unsteady legs, her knees wobbling hard enough that Traynor reached out and put a hand on Shepard’s arm for balance.

Shepard’s hand came up to hold Traynor’s face, her thumb brushing across her cheek. She leaned down to kiss her again, and the taste of herself on Shepard’s lips was enough to reignite Traynor’s want.

When Shepard pulled away from her Traynor was reluctant to let her go. They parted, just far enough for Shepard to look into her eyes, a satisfied smile on her face.

Traynor could lose herself in those dark eyes, entrapped in that playful smile. She was drawn to her and her pull was inescapable. It was like –

Traynor laughed to herself.

It was like gravity.

**Author's Note:**

> for this and more OC content you can find me on tumblr at [droideka-exe](https://droideka-exe.tumblr.com) or twitter at [droideka_exe](https://twitter.com/droideka_exe)
> 
> I am taking writing commissions! check out my info [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1fRwljLTPagrvVl9f9GmJVgKrS_aMGUP0UsNm8jbQZQ8/edit?usp=sharing)


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